[Notes for the run of October 14, 1999.] We head off toward the walls of Westmore. Attila, who's never been anywhere near this far south, gripes about how hot it is, and starts stripping off his bear cloak and other coverings. As he comes down to his loincloth, Mia blushes and turns away. But then she notices he's got really good muscles, and peeks anyway. Hobbes asks Rhori if this is where he keeps his cows, and whether Hobbes'll be able to try one. He's never had a cow, but they sure look tasty. There's a brief discussion wondering what "crowned king" exists (who could become Emperor) other than our king, i.e. the King of the Isles and Tara. We don't know of any. There's also a brief discussion between Claire and Paris about extending the telluricommunication network to Pelier. Claire tells Paris that there are only three people now capable of maintaining said link and that she has no intention of moving to Pelier. Rhori asks Paris if she can tell who's bad and not bad now, from having been bonked by the Hermit. She doesn't know. He also asks if Paris wants to try to finish her task before seeing the Prince, and she says yes. That's good enough for Rhori, so he's all set to go storm the tower. But Paris figures we'll have to talk to _someone_ to get permission to go into the tower. But it's the Duke's tower, so maybe we can just talk to him or his seneschal, and not talk to the Prince yet. (No such luck.) We think a bit about how to get Hobbes in, since we expect he'll set off an alarm at the gate. Rhori finds a quiet corner, and has Hobbes turn visible, then throws some horse blankets over him. Hobbes joins Attila in griping about the heat, and still looks basically like a lion covered in blankets. We settle for having Hobbes stay invisible until we get to the gate. There's a long line of bureaucrats at the gate as usual. Rhori puts on his insignia, in the hope that it'll get us in faster. Of course, it's unusual to don insignia right there, so the guards watch curiously. As Rhori heads for the gate, holding onto Hobbes's invisible mane, a soldier stops him. Rhori starts to explain about his invisible companion, but before he manages to completely confuse the soldier an officer comes up who recognises him as "Silverlocke's man", and clears him for entrance. Rhori again explains he has an invisible lion as a companion, and gets the skeptical officer to tell the archers to hold their fire except on his order. Hobbes appears, and the officer jumps, the peasants scatter, and the bureaucrats fall over backward, but the archers, to their credit, hold their fire. We wait for a bit, with guards nervously surrounding us, until a runner comes and announces that the Prince, Duke, and Baron (Silverlocke) want to see us. As we prepare to set out, the guard commander asks Rhori point blank if the lion is any danger to the Prince, Princess, or Duke. Rhori replies that he's not. Rhori then thinks a bit, and says, as if to himself, "Unless they tried to attack me, but they wouldn't do that." In a normal voice he addresses the commander again, "No, absolutely not." We're escorted to the Duke's ready room. It's quite crowded, but somehow people seem more than willing to make room for us. The Prince recovers first. "I'm pleased to see all of you return with, um, aid. I hope you have more good news." Some of us notice that in addition to the Prince, the Duke, the Baron, the Princess, and two elves, there are some tables with cloths thrown hastily over them. Anton waves at the elves. They watch inscrutably. The Princess, like some of the soldiers in the yard, looks at Hobbes and starts to ask "What happened to his..." She looks quickly between Hobbes and Rhori. "Oh." [Players are reminded that Rhori got nicknamed "Red" because he has an ugly red birthmark on his face. Hobbes has a mark that is a mirror-image of Rhori's.] Paris explains that her quest has led us back here, and she hopes to get leave to continue it here. Meanwhile, she says, Rhori has completed his quest. Paris has Rhori produce his book and the oversized silver card. Meanwhile, the Princess is quite impressed by Hobbes, and asks if she can pet him. Rhori says yes, and mentions that if she wants to be Hobbes's friend for life, he'd really like to try a cow. Not having one handy, she strokes Hobbes and skritches his ears, which Rhori finds rather distracting as he picks up Hobbes's happy thoughts via their mind link. Silverlocke takes the card offered by Rhori, holds it a moment (the card does NOT disappear), and laughs. "My apologies, your Grace, for being gone so long." It seems he's gone and had a long talk, though it didn't take any real time. The Prince asks, "What was so funny?" "You'll have to revise your opinion of me. It seems the reason I've been so good at sneaking and such is that I've had an invisible companion who couldn't manifest himself until now." He puts out his hand, and turning visible is another lion. He's a bit larger than Hobbes. [And though Pat didn't go into more details during the run, he says this lion has a black mane with a silver streak.] This one's name is Rex. Rhori hears Silverlocke and Hobbes say the name at about the same time; apparently Hobbes can talk to Rex. Unlike Hobbes, Rex doesn't growl when he talks over the mind link. Silverlocke tells Rhori that he has done very well and gives the Duke a significant look. The Duke turns to the box from which he's previously produced silver cards for us, but finds nothing there. He concludes that we're apparently not finished yet. It would seem the box is not merely a place where he stores cards to hand out as rewards; apparently it is where cards appear when someone has earned them. Paris hands over the book from the Emerald Baron and Count Dungeon, and quietly adds the instructions about shifting column B. The Prince also asks who it was who helped set up the communication link. Paris says it was Claire, and the Prince thanks Claire and says he (well, royal We) is in her debt. She tries saying, "You're welcome", but he explains that's not how it works: when she has need of his aid, she should ask. She suggests she might be able to teach some fledgling earth mages the spell, though she's not sure if she can without a book. She's willing to try. Paris asks permission to ascend the tower. Permission is granted, but she's told it's easy to ascend: just enter the pattern at the ground level and it takes you to the top. Hm, but we need to be inbetween. We say we'll go look. A page is assigned to show us the way. We get to the tower. The entrance is on the fifth floor of the palace, in a large square room 20 hexes wide. The floor is a gold circle 8 hexes across, around which are 22 points, with lines drawn between the points to form two interlocking 11-sided figures. It's not inlaid; the gold and the lines are simply part of the floor. Anton casts Magic Sight, and sees it's a teleport spell. The page explains that, to use it, you just walk into it. Anton promptly does so, and finds himself inside an identical circle in a round room with some guards and boxes. Paris stops the rest of us from rushing in while we look around a bit. The page explains that some mages have poked around some, and some people have climbed the outside or flown on the inside a bit, and not found any way into the rest of the tower. Claire's mage sight gives her a very vague feeling that somewhere above us is a transition between Torat and Tarot. It's like there's some sort of wobbly place in the walls where they meet the ceiling. Eventually Anton comes back, appearing inside the circle. Calais notes that maybe the trick involves going up and coming back so you can do something on the inside of the circle, but examining the inside turns up nothing special. Claire checks her knowledge of earth magic; Calais tries magical triggers and hiding things in plain sight. Nothing leaps to mind. Various of us check the upper room. It's round, with a stairway at the 5 oclock position leading to the open platform at the top. The circle up there looks the same as the one at the bottom. The guards there say the boxes contain banners and fuel for signal fires; they were brought up after the tower appeared, so they're presumably not related to how we get in. We think again about how we're supposed to find Justice. Mia recalls that we'll need a little bit of luck. Claire asks, would you? Oh yeah, says Mia, that's me. She casts her Luck spell, but nothing exciting happens. Claire figures the clover has more to do with it than just indicating the 14 stories, so she suggests Paris go to the center of the circle and throw the clover in the air. It goes up a bit, then falls gently back down. Nope, that's not it. We start examining the rest of the two rooms, and the stairway at the top. The base of the tower pretty much fits the size of the bottom room (20 hexes across, though round). Claire thinks the Torat/Tarot transition is more noticeable at the bottom than in the top room. Rhori suggests getting everybody together in the circle at the bottom and doing something with the clover, but he's not sure what. We gather, but nothing happens. Calais checks the wall corresponding to where the stairway is in the top room. Aha! He finds a rough spot. Claire helps, and together they find a depression with four lobes. Paris's clover fits it exactly, but nothing happens, and it won't turn for either her or Calais. Calais ponders it a while, and finally remembers that his teacher told him every lock has five pins. So he searches some more, and notices a circular indentation around the four lobes. He checks Paris's badge, and it fits exactly. It also holds the clover in place to give it the firmness needed to turn the mechanism. She does so, and a door opens. The clover takes a beating from this and is ruined, but it did also have the effect of cleaning some grime off her badge so it seems to glow a bit. Probably it's just catching the light better; that must be it. :-) Beyond the door is a circular stair leading up. "I think we're on the right track," says Calais wryly. Paris heads up, with the rest of us tagging along. The narrow stairs, one person wide, lead up, gracefully curving to follow the outside of the tower. There is light from above, shining through a small window. As we approach a landing, Paris (in the lead) sees two men on it, talking with one another. The man on the left is dressed as a peasant, the man on the right looks to be a hunter or bowman. As we reach the level of the landing, we see that there is also a dead cow. Most of us look at Hobbes, but the lion is behaving himself. The stairs end at this landing. There is a small window at the landing that lets light in. The serf on the left turns to Paris. "See 'ere, your lordship. This bloke 'ere what shot my cow. Killed her outright. An' she was a good cow." The hunter looks exasperated. "Look, lord, it was an accident. I'm sorry, but I was aiming at a duck, and the cow spooked it. The arrow went right where the duck was and hit the cow." Paris nods, the pages of her textbooks on law turning in her mind. She turns to the peasant. "How old was the cow?" "Three years, your grace, I mean lordship, last season." Paris does some calculation. It's been months since she was a simple manager of a farm, but prices of livestock can't have changed that much. She turns to the hunter. "You owe him three pieces of silver for his cow." The hunter looks shocked. "Lord, all I have would barely amount to two pieces of silver." He looks down at his bag. "I've got four rabbit pelts, but if I don't sell them my family won't eat." She stares down the hunter. "One and a half silvers, and a rabbit pelt a week to him for the rest of the season." She pauses, calculating. "And you help him get his cow to the butcher. You take enough meat for your family for today, he sells the rest." The hunter nods in acceptance, and Paris turns to the peasant. "But she was a good cow," he whines. Paris stares him down as well. "All right," he says at last, turning to the hunter. "You stay 'ere and keep the scavengers off, I'll go get a cart." As the peasant turns, the two men and the dead cow fade away. Some of us wail in sympathy for Hobbes, but Hobbes is unperturbed; he could tell from the lack of scent that it wasn't a real cow. The blank wall on the opposite side of the landing now has a doorway in it, opening onto another set of stairs up. As Anton passes the window, he looks out and sees a view of the city of New Westmore, essentially as one would expect; this is surprising only because the tower as viewed from outside does not appear to have any windows. He checks for magic and finds that we are in Tarot, with the window a boundary leading back to Torat. Fortunately the window is too small for him to try exiting through it, and it seems not to occur to him to try dropping things out through it. The next four landings are much the same, questions of low justice, disputes over property, that Paris is able to solve by simply applying the laws she has learned. The pattern is always the same: two people, a conflict, and, after she renders judgment, the images of the people vanish and an opening to another stairway appears. In a way, it is more tiring than fighting battles, but she pushes herself on. As she approaches the sixth landing, she hears a woman crying. She can see a man standing to one side, in chain armor covered by a blue surcoat, but he is side on to her as she climbs. Almost to the top, she can see the woman, on her knees, sobbing. When Paris reaches the landing the woman turns to her. "He raped me!" she wails, pointing at the man. The man turns to face Paris. Calais, the third in line (with Claire in between) can tell from her reaction that she is startled; apparently she recognises the man, or at least he bears a resemblance to someone she knows. She apparently also recognises the emblem on his surcoat. (It's the deLacey emblem.) The man smiles at her, and says in an easy-going, charming tone, "So I was a little early on my droit de seigneur. What's the problem?" His eyes flick over Paris, down and up, appraisingly. Paris swallows and takes a moment to regain her composure, but when she speaks it is with authority. "If you have droit de seigneur, then you have properties held in fealty. Is this not so?" The man's smile fades. He looks at her haughtily, and replies stiffly, "I am Sir Rathburn, Baron deLacey. Yes, _lord_," he practically sneers the word, "I have properties in fealty. Her father _is_ bound to me." "There may be," Paris's voice shakes just a little as she again seems to be reminded of someone else, "a time and a place for droit de seigneur," her voice grows sure and confident, "but you have admitted that you took it out of time. Therefore you have violated your part of the oath of fealty. You did not protect that man and his household and properties as a lord is sworn to do. You have forfeited his fealty and he is free to swear to another lord who can provide better protection. "In addition, you have damaged his goods." The term elicits a snort or two from the rest of the party, but Paris ignores us and continues. "It is as though a neighboring lord were to enter your lands in your absence and torch one of your vineyards. The price of that includes the great time it takes to restore a vineyard to be as useful to its lord as it was formerly. The woman must, therefore, be dowered by your hand sufficient to _now_ attract the husband she would have had before this... damage." The woman stops crying and looks at Paris. Like those in the earlier cases, the Baron stares hard at Paris, lip curled, but Paris holds her ground and her gaze. He looks away first. "Very well, lord." He turns to speak with the woman and both fade away. Again there is an opening on the other side of the landing, to another set of stairs up. Paris's badge is glowing slightly brighter. Paris seems more introspective than usual as she moves on. The seventh landing has two women on it, one dressed in brown, one in the black of mourning. Paris steps onto the landing. "Your lordship," the one in black curtsies to Paris. "Have I not suffered enough?" The one in brown stares at the other in disbelief and shouts shrilly. "Suffered? Suffered!? It's my poor boy that has suffered. Ever since her thug beat up my boy, bashing him in the head with a mug, he's been unable to work. And it's all her fault! She made her whelp do it!" She turns to Paris. "Lordship, I want her to pay a year's wages for my boy. For the time he can't work." The woman in black looks at Paris, eyes glistening with tears. "Your lordship. Is it not enough that my son was hung for his crime? Must I also be beggared?" Paris turns to the woman in brown. "Was the crime for which her son was hung that of beating your son?" "Yes, and well the thug deserved it." The woman's face changes smoothly from outrage to a look of camaraderie, of we're-all-in-this-together, and she speaks more quietly, directly to Paris. "What is the city coming to when decent folk can't go into a tavern without some working class ruffian trying to splatter their brains out with a tankard?" Paris questions her further. "You have told me that this woman incited her son to attack yours. What proof have you that this was so?" The woman in brown leans back indignantly. "She raised him! She raised a vicious brute that attacked my son!" But as Paris waits for something more definitive, the woman seems to deflate. "Oh, all right. How much of what she pays are you going to keep as 'proof'?" The woman in black is now crying. "My lord, I beg you. I did not even have the ten silvers to keep my son from the hangman." Paris speaks with quiet firmness. "Proof is neither bought nor sold. It is the evidence of the crime. In _your_ son's case, it was the weapon that hit him, his prior and subsequent condition, and the testimony of those who saw the attack as to what happened and what were the circumstances. These proofs were what the Law used to determine that the attacker was guilty and that there were no mitigating circumstances with which to forestall the death penalty." Turning to the woman in black, Paris speaks carefully to keep her feelings about the price of life out of her voice. "For ten silver his life would have been spared? Who asked such a price? And to what end would he have been spared? What then would have been his fate when the Law had condemned him?" The woman in black continues to cry. "No, lord. She," indicating the woman in brown, "paid the judge nine silvers, and he said he would spare my son for ten. I haven't half that much money, lord." There is a gasp or two from the party at this, and Paris is clearly startled as well. She turns back to the woman in brown. "Why did you pay the judge? Tell me about this... custom." The woman in brown raises an eyebrow. "It wasn't a payment, lord, of course not. It was an assessment to guarantee a speedy trial, of course." Her face again takes on its conspiratorial we're-all-in-this-together look. "You know how it is. Lots of cases, these days, and getting attention to your case is difficult. Besides, this way I didn't have to spend the money on lawyers to make sure it came out right." "I see," says Paris, slowly. She thinks for a bit and continues, "Now, you have made an accusation that calls this other woman's character to account. So... who bears witness for you that she in any way had threatened your son in particular, or deliberately trained her son to attack others in general?" "Witnesses, lord?" The woman in brown looks perplexed. "There were plenty of witnesses at the trial that said her whelp hit my son. Right on the head, a terrible bloody gash. If that isn't threatening my son in particular, I don't know what is." "Those were witnesses to the trial of the man who has been hung," Paris explains patiently. "The Law has dealt with him. I was asking you about this woman," she gestures towards the woman in black. "Had _she_ said anything against your son?" The woman in brown still looks confused. "Lord, I never saw this woman until the trial of her son. I don't know what she said before. But at the trial she kept whining about what a wonderful child her whelp was. Hmph. 'Wonderful child' indeed, clubbing others." "Did it come out in the trial that the attacker had clubbed others besides your son?" Paris asks. "Did the witnesses say he had a particular complaint against your son? And tell me more about the wound he inflicted on your son. Head wounds bleed a lot. Did you have a physician look at your son's wound? What did he say the damage was?" The woman in brown looks shocked. "Of course I had a doctor look at him! What kind of a mother do you take me for? Cut his forehead something terrible, and his eye is still puffy and black. The doctor said if it had been an inch further back it would have hit the temple and he might be dead." "What sort of work did your son do before this attack? Tell me about him please." "Oh," the woman in brown begins, "he was looking at apprenticing as a jeweler. Or maybe painting or sculpting. He is really quite talented." She natters on for a bit about his accomplishments, as she saw them. She has the equivalent of every finger painting he ever did. (If it weren't that refrigerators haven't been invented yet, she'd have them all displayed there.) The woman in black has been silent all through this, tears running down her cheeks. Paris has never seen anyone look more dejected. Paris asks the woman in brown one last question. "Your son, then, has not yet had the opportunity to hold a full-time job? How old is he?" The woman in brown smiles at Paris. She seems to be happy to talk about her son as long as Paris wants to. "Oh, he will be nineteen just before the next harvest festival." After listening to that answer, Paris turns to the woman in black. Her voice is somewhat gentler than it has been, perhaps. "Could you please tell me some of the answers I have not yet gotten? How old was your son? And what did the witnesses say was the reason behind his attack?" The woman in black speaks through her tears, choking back a sob. "Please, lord. I have lived through my son's trial once, do not make me do so again. He is not on trial here, lord. He is beyond that now. I am on trial here." She deflates, sagging in place. "I no longer care. Do with me as you will." Paris sighs and speaks very quietly. "I wish to see Justice done." She tries to continue, "And I am not sure but that your son's trial was an injustice to you..." The woman in brown interrupts. "He was a common farm hand. No future, no land of his own. A drunkard and a common ruffian, I said at his trial." She looks at Paris. "Lord, could we hurry this along. You've heard her confess, practically." She smiles again and leans closer, that same knowing look in her eyes. "Time is money, and I'm sure you have more cases to try." (Some of us are amazed that Claire hasn't simply zotted this obnoxious woman by now.) Paris realises that the punishment meted out in the earlier trial does not seem to fit the crime. Assaulting a lord -- or even, as we've been warned, merely touching a Royal without permission -- can be punished by death, but such a penalty appears to have been unwarranted here. But she also realises that the Test has been thwarting her efforts to judge that trial; she has to come up with a judgment now for the two women. Still, it rankles. She looks at the woman in brown. "I am prepared to pass judgment on the disagreement between the two of you. There has been no testimony to prove that the mother of the hanged man was in any wise the instigator or motivator for the attack upon the other man. She has been in no wise implicated in the crime for which her son was hanged. In addition, from what the mother of the erstwhile victim has said, the damage done was neither permanent nor incorrigibly debilitating -- _and_ there has been no regular income earned by the erstwhile victim and so lost due to the injury. "Therefore my ruling is that the mother of the victim has borne false witness against this woman," gesturing to the woman in black, as the woman in brown drops her jaw in shock, "for the purpose of extortion, and has attempted to demean her in the eyes of the world. The fine for false witness will be paid to the court to the amount of four silver. The fine for libel will be another four silver, to be paid to this woman," again gesturing towards the woman in black, "by said libeler in recompense for the damage done her good name." Paris's understanding of the Law makes the latter fine fair and reasonable, and she cannot see the court taking a larger fine than the victim. The woman in brown seems to disbelieve Paris (the illusion disbelieving? that's a twist! :-) and tries to convince Paris she misspoke herself. "Four silvers? You want _me_ to pay _her_ four silvers? That's not the way it works..." She tries to stare Paris down, but fails. Paris looks down at the woman in black and adds, in a voice as soft and gentle as anyone has ever heard from her, "Please accept my sorrow with your own, goodwife, for the loss of your son. No words of mine can replace him. So I must feel for you and pray for his soul. I fear that Justice is not always present at every trial. God bless you, goodwife." Paris kneels for a moment in prayer before looking up to find the next door open. Her badge glows quite brightly now. Calais, third in line, notices four silver pieces on the floor. Anton, fourth in line, does not. After two more tests, we reach the tenth landing. Again, two people wait for Paris. The one on the left, a short older man in the Duke of Westmoor's livery. The one on the right, a big brute of a man in rough garb, hands tied behind his back and legs in iron chains. "This is the man, your lordship," the bailiff says. "He strangled the Carver's baby." The brute sneers at Paris. "Well, what did you expect me to do? I told her to keep the brat quiet. Wailing at all hours of the day and night. Honest working person's got to sleep sometime." "And he strangled the Carver's wife." The brute shrugs. "She started screaming when she seen I done her runt." The bailiff looks a little pale. "And he admits he raped her before he strangled her." The brute looks indignant. "What, you wanted I should wait till _after_ I strangled her? That's sick." The bailiff looks to Paris. "What is your judgment, lord?" Paris feels sick. This seems very cut and dried. Dirty, too. This was unpleasant. Pulling away for a moment, her mind notices that ten flights have taken her one complete revolution around the tower. She forces herself back to the trial. Paris muses, "No baby can cry continually unless something is very, very wrong. Even a normally fussy baby sleeps quite a lot." To the prisoner, "What relation are you to the Carvers that you could hear the babe and yet not know what was wrong with it?" The brute looks at her, still a sneer on his face. "Lived next door." He snorts. "_Tried_ to live there." The bailiff interrupts. "Lord, we spoke with the apothecary down the street. The baby had the colic." He glances nervously over to the other man. "The prisoner had been fired from his job as a loader for beating one of the draymen's horses to death. He had been home all day for a week." So far every time the prisoner has opened his mouth it has been to further prejudice his own case and blacken his own character. Paris swallows, trying hard not to let the ugliness and bleakness of the situation overwhelm her need to have enough information. Her eyes close for a moment, trying also to control her personal reaction. She is _tired_ of sneers -- _and_ she does not _want_ to hear of more evil, but she _must_ determine whether or not this prisoner is reclaimable or a continuing threat to the peace and safety of her Duke's people. "Home all day for a week when you should have been out looking for work elsewhere? Why?" she asks. "Didn't feel like it," the man sneers. "Duke supplies the house, Duke might as well supply the food and drink." Paris turns to the bailiff, recalling a snatch of conversation she once heard between her mother and Claire's mistress. "A baby will outgrow colic. It is neither continuous nor fatal," she swallows, "save now. But the prisoner? His attack upon the horse indicates that the Carver family was not the first to feel his... capacity for violence. Are there yet earlier instances?" Paris swallows again. "Otherwise... is it known if -- something -- happened in his life just before this week?" The bailiff looks puzzled. "My lord? I do not know. He was from one of the towns a few miles from here, before the new city came. I have not inquired about what happened before then." He glances at the big prisoner. "The neighbors of his that I talked to were afraid of him, and I gathered that fighting was not unusual for him. Indeed, it took six guardsmen to subdue him when he was arrested, and one is still bruised." Paris looks the prisoner in the eye, ignoring his sneer, ignoring his size, ignoring the sickness rising in her that his unrepentant tales of atrocity have engendered, her gaze trying to pierce to the heart. "Why do your neighbors fear you? What do you fear that you must kill a horse or a babe or a tired woman if they do not obey you?" His sneer gives way to full fledged hatred, and he tugs at his bonds to see if they will loosen this time. "Fear? I don't fear them! _They_ should fear _me_! I'm a real man, and if you didn't have me in iron bands I'd tear you and this runt apart with my bare hands! You God damned..." and his voice degenerates through obscenities into an incoherent rage. Paris tries one last question in search of mitigating circumstances. She turns to the bailiff. "Was there no one who spoke for this man? No wife, child or friend?" The bailiff is struggling with the prisoner, trying to keep him under control. "Lord? His wife was afraid to speak with me or any of my men, just hid in the corner and whimpered. Didn't see signs of any kids around. No one came forward to speak for him." "And how of the Carver? Has he any other children?" The bailiff has almost lost his footing, and is near to being swung about by the prisoner as an improvised weapon. Paris looks back at the rest of the party and sees Rhori with a "let me help!" expression, and calls to him. Rhori comes up to help hold onto the prisoner. The bailiff gasps his thanks to Rhori. "My lord!" puffs the bailiff, over the furious sounds from the prisoner. "The Carver and his son were out gathering wood when his wife and baby were killed. They came back and found her body, and the child. Wife had fought, and bloodied him. We followed the footprints back to his house next door." Even with Rhori's aid, the bailiff seems to have his hands full. "Please, lord!" Paris stands erect and speaks rapidly and firmly, determined to end the bailiff's difficulty as quickly as possible. "There being no mitigating circumstances offered and he having admitted guilt without regret, this prisoner is judged guilty of the murder of the Carver's wife and child. He is also guilty of depriving the Carver of the aid of his helpmeet. He is, in addition, guilty of deliberately making himself a drain upon his Duke and the populace of this city. As there is no evidence that he would not continue to prey upon the populace and be a further drain, the penalty is that he be put down like the mad dog he has become." Directly to the prisoner, "You are sentenced to hang by the neck until you are dead." She takes a breath and continues rapidly. "His property should be assessed and what recompense can be made for the loss of services suffered should be made to the Carver. The prisoner's wife and children, if any, should be remanded to their Town Baron and to their Parish church to receive what portion of the available charities would normally be their lot, with the intent that their lives be bettered rather than worsened by the loss of this... man." Paris feels ill. She has never before sent a man to death indirectly. She far prefers honorable battle. Upon reflection, she realises this trial was the first directly involving a capital crime. (The first five landings were low justice, petty crimes. The next four had been mid-justice things such as property crimes between nobles and peasants, and crimes peripherally related to high crimes.) With Rhori to help, the prisoner is restrained while Paris pronounces judgment. All during the pronouncement, the prisoner looks at her with rage and hatred in his eyes, but remains silent. The bailiff nods and replies, "So shall it be done." The bailiff and the prisoner fade from view. To Paris's dismay, so does Rhori. A voice speaks in her head. "He is safe, and will return to the world safely when you succeed or fail. But none may aid you more than once in this test." Rhori finds himself standing alone in a fog, indistinct grey stretching all directions around him. He feels a bump at his knee. "You OK, boss?" comes the reassuring question from Hobbes. Before he can reply a different voice comes out of the grey. "We thank you for your aid to our supplicant. The rules of the test require that none may aid her more than once. You may watch from here. Rest, Guardian of Nature." Rhori asks, "What's a supplicant?" There is no reply, but some of the fog clears, revealing a white stone floor with the teleport pattern in gold. In the center of the pattern, Rhori sees images of Paris and the remainder of the party as they approach the next landing. Eleventh landing. Two women, both peasants by the look of them. A bassinet in between them, with a baby in swaddling clothes. Each is holding on to the bassinet, tugging. "Mine!" the one on the left shouts. "No! It's _my_ baby!" the one on the right shouts back. If they pull much harder they will break the cradle. Paris stretches forth her hand and says as much. "If you pull the basket more, it will break and the babe will fall to its death. Are you willing that this happen?" If Paris hoped to learn anything from the women's reactions, she is disappointed. They both stop pulling, but each keeps a tense grip on the basket. "I'll not give him up to her!" the one on the left shouts. "It's my baby!" the one on the right replies through tears. Paris stays alert, ready to try to catch the infant if anything untoward happens. Speaking gently, Paris asks, "How does it come that you both claim the same babe? How can you tell it is your own? Tell me your stories, please. You," she nods to the one on the left, "begin." "My lord?" she looks at Paris in surprise. "I born him, lord. That's how I know he's mine. Not quite a month ago. I gone down to the fountain to do some washing, put him in his favorite blanket. That's when she," and she hisses across the basket at the other woman, "grabbed him, while I was washing, and tried to run with him." "That's a lie!" the woman on the right hisses back. "She came down to the fountain with a basket, but it was just a basket of clothes that she left there. She tried to take my baby from me. My lord, _I_ gave birth to him. Not her." And she tugs at the bassinet, a tug resisted by the other woman. "Your husbands and midwives can verify that each of you have given birth within the month, yes?" Both women nod, but the test produces no new images. It seems always to produce just two images. (Well, images of people. It can do as many dead cows or other props as necessary. The part of the baby is a non-speaking role. :-) And a good thing, too, since no real baby, or even an image of one, would so quietly tolerate this much jerking around!) Paris tries a new tack. "I will hold the child and examine him. But before I examine him, I will have each of you whisper in my ear -- one at a time -- telling me if he was born with any identifying birthmarks or moles, and where. I am sure that the midwives who washed the newborns can tell me the same." This idea seems to meet with approval from Claire as well, but Paris starts to take a step forward and then halts. It occurs to her that, just as the images will not produce witnesses, it may not permit unswaddling the baby to examine it. Maybe she can find yet another way. She speaks sternly so as to stop (she hopes) whatever movement the two women might have made in response to her aborted command. "First, I want you to tell me why you," she looks into the eyes of the woman on the left, "think she," nodding towards the woman on the right, "would want to take your babe and what became of her own?" "My lord? I don't know," the one on the left begins. She is startled by Paris's sudden question and lifts one hand from the bassinet. The other woman takes the opportunity to pull, and it looks like she will probably succeed in freeing the basket. Paris puts her hand out towards the woman on the right. "Stop pulling on the basket, both of you, lest you prefer the simple solution of taking home but half a child." Paris knows that's an empty threat but tries firmly to keep that knowledge from her face and voice. Such a solution would not be just to the child, much less any one else. There _must_ be a way to find out what the non-mother really wanted from making another woman's babe her own. There is a gasp from the woman on the left. "You wouldn't," says the woman on the right, eyes open wide. However, Paris doesn't think that they believe her threat. Paris gets a grip on the basket. Now we have a three way tug of war, but it is to be suspected that Paris is stronger than two peasant women. :-) To this point Paris has not touched either one. The basket feels like a real basket, room temperature and everything. "When the babe is hungry, we will know the truth, for it will certainly prefer the breast at which it has suckled these past weeks. For now," she looks at the woman on the right, "you tell me why this other woman would covet your baby and what she might have done with her own." "Her baby must have died, lord," the woman on the right replies. "She wants mine to make up for it." "That's a lie!" shouts the woman on the left. "This is my baby! Mine! I born him!" Why would someone want to raise someone else's baby? Paris cannot seem to pull a reason, a motivation, for this bizarre situation. What is right for the child is to give him to the woman who will love and care for him the most. What is right for the women is that his birth mother have him. By all rights, those two 'rights' merge in the same answer. The mother would love and want him no matter what. Perhaps _that_ can be made to answer. Paris closes her eyes and tips her head back. Then she shivers and opens her eyes, gazing blankly. With a quick snap of her head, she turns slightly towards the Party, frowning, glancing particularly at the magi. Then she turns back, her gaze traveling from one woman to the other and back again as she speaks. "What would you say were I to tell you that this baby's future has been foreseen? That he will toddle out the door and into the path of the Princess's carriage? He will be badly damaged, perhaps an invalid requiring constant care for life. And the Princess will mis-carry her child as a result of the accident. The King her father will have this boy's parents arrested for that...." Paris watches the faces of both women as she spins this tale. Both women frown. "No! That can't be true! I wouldn't let that happen." The shouts and cries from the two were slightly different, but the gist was the same: Paris's act was just not convincing enough. Neither believes that this is really the child's fate. Paris gazes steadily at the women, first one, then the other, thinking furiously. Justice. She needs to find Justice for this case and nothing _she's_ come up with seems to work. A vaguely familiar voice speaks in her mind, 'You won't find Justice unless you know how to look for truth, and have a little luck.' Paris looks down. The four leafed clover in her hand is wilted and dry. She used its luck just getting this far. So now she needs to know how to look for truth. She missed that part of the Hermit's speech. He faded away and then, shortly after, she'd been briefly blinded. She'll have to rely on what her brother told her happened in that time. They'd _thought_ that the Hermit himself was Truth but ... Calais asked, 'How does my sister Paris look for truth?' The Hermit had said something like, 'I have come here where there is nothing, to find Truth. If I can find a place where there is nothing, only Truth will remain. Her truth is a much simpler truth; first she must know who is opposed to her, who is evil. Do you wish her to know this?' She heard Calais say 'Yes', and that, Calais said, was when the Hermit hit her with his lantern and temporarily blinded her. Paris rocks back on her heels. One of these women is opposed to Justice. One of these women wants that baby for some reason I, Paris, cannot yet imagine. But -- if I can know which is opposed to me, to Justice rather, I will know a truth. Phrases echo in her mind. 'She (Paris) must know who is opposed to her, who is evil' and 'One of these women wants that baby'. Who is evil ... wants that baby. A memory that has been teasing at the back of her mind snaps suddenly into place, the story told by Prince William of the doppleganger- creature about to sacrifice a new-born baby girl. Yes, it seems entirely possible to Paris that whichever of these women is the child-snatcher might be intending to deliver said child up to the Black Rites .... Horrific thought! But how to get her to admit any such thing?!? And _if_ the woman was herself one of those doppleganger-creatures...? My God! Would the vision do that? Paris feels cold through and through. "Calais! Brillig! To my side," Paris orders firmly and clearly. "Anton, please _look_!" She hopes -- prays -- that the movement of the seeming fighter-types will be sufficient distraction while the mage casts his magic sight spell. The counterfeit Baron du Bois had not wanted to be looked at with such sight. What it might reveal of an illusion of such a creature, she's not sure. Calais, being closer, makes it first. Just before he arrives, Paris scowls at both women and orders in her most authoritative voice, "You women, stay where you are!" She turns briefly towards Calais. He and she have always been able to understand each other's 'body language', but ever since the world changed Calais's been able to pick up on her signals even better. A flick of her eyes toward the bassinet, a clench of her fists, and a slight tugging motion, and Calais realises she wants him to grab the baby. (She knows a babe can stand a little rough handling; babies don't break so easily and this one has already been jostled like a threshing basket.) Paris can't 'read' Calais as well -- she really must find time to let him teach her how he does it -- but she's pretty sure his reassuring wink means he got the idea. Paris reaches for her sword, intending to grab for the face of the first woman who moves to intercept the baby. Before the women can react, Calais grabs the baby and steps back, dodging. Both women let out a piteous wail. The one on the right is still holding onto the basket with one hand; the one on the left collapses to her knees, arms outstretched. Paris's sword slides smoothly from its scabbard and several things happen all at once. Anton, having cast his spell, calls out, "It's an illusion like the others." Paris feels a little energy drain from her (the spell uses some END) and the sword lights with electric blue light up and down its length, as we once saw Prince William's sword glow. It does not entirely surprise her, as it did him then. What she can see, that the others cannot, is a light the color of the Hermit's lantern glowing all about the woman on the right, and she hears his voice in her head, "That one is evil." In the silence that follows, she can hear a decidedly un-feminine voice from the woman on the right. "Oh, shit," it says in a well-remembered demonic tone. Paris lunges with her sword, hitting the demon. The demon, no longer disguised as a woman, blocks with the basket. Claire looses a volley of magic missiles at it, hitting it in the head, chest, and arm. And then the image fades, and the demon, the woman, the baby, Calais, Anton, and Claire all vanish. Paris's badge glows even brighter, and there is now an opening on the other side of the landing, with stairs leading up. "Neither they who aided you, nor that sense, may be used again for the rest of the test," says the voice in her head. Calais is standing in a grey fog, sans baby. "We thank you..." yadda yadda. He too stands and watches the rest of the test, but does not see Hobbes, Rhori, Anton, or Claire. Anton and Claire are in the same boat. Twelfth landing. Two men in heavy armor (plate helm and breastplate over chain) face each other. They turn to Paris as she climbs to the landing. "Lord," the one on the right begins curtly, "the Baron of Corvint has invaded my lands." The one on the left sneers at the other. (Oh no! Not more sneering! At least time it's not directed at Paris. :-) "My lord, the Baron of Sangatte is a liar and a mountebank. His men stole the Vale, and it was not until now that I could gather a force to displace them." Paris turns to the man on the right. "Are you Baron Sangatte? Is the land that has been invaded the Vale?" "Indeed, lord," the man nodded. Paris turns to the man on the left. "Baron Corvint?" "Aye, lord?" the man replies. "I would have each of you please describe to me how and when the Vale first came into the possession of your House. Baron Sangatte, will you begin?" There follows a long and complicated tale. When the area was settled a dozen generations in advance of these two, the Sangattes were there first and were awarded a sizable chunk of land. Corvint arrived later, and was similarly awarded. The area is hilly and, as is true of much land, not well mapped. In fact, at the time of the two awards, the small valley called the Vale wasn't known; the plots of land were awarded to the top of a small chalk hill. The Vale lies between two chalk hills; at the time of the award it was thought that they were the same hill (i.e., traveling a line from the west to east you have Sangatte's land, a small chalk hill, the Vale, a small chalk hill, Corvint's land). Some farmers from Sangatte were the first to move into the Vale, basically they expanded up the small stream that supplies most of Sangatte's water into the Vale. Most of the farmers in the Vale were from Sangatte, but not all. Corvint discovered it later; there is a convenient pass in the hills from Corvint's keep into the Vale. About a third of the people in the Vale are from Corvint. When a group of bandits began to plague the Vale, Corvint responded quicker because it was closer. Those troops moved down the Vale, and caused the local Sangatte reeves to ah, displace. Just recently, the troops of Sangatte have been assembled to retake the Vale, but it appears the two Barons are trying one last time for a judgment. Paris is getting a headache. She tries to ignore it, but still winces slightly as she nods her understanding of the matter. Aloud she recaps, "The first lord to provide settlers to the Vale was Sangatte. The first lord to respond to a plea for defense for the Vale against bandits was Corvint. Both lords, therefore, have acted in good faith, as sworn lords should. Honor thus belongs to both." She bows towards the men. They each nod back to her, while nevertheless managing to glower at each other out of the corners of their eyes. Paris straightens and continues calmly. "It is clear that this is not a case of either lord intending to _steal_ from the other, but a case whereby neither was actually deeded the Vale despite the original intent being that the border between Sangatte and Corvint be one, and not two with a no-man's- land belonging to the Crown in between. This bit of land by itself profits neither the Duke nor the King. Nor does conflict between two of their loyal barons. It is clear that the original intent was to divide a significant landmark in half to mark the border between Sangatte and Corvint. In this case, the landmark listed was _the_ chalk hill. As it happened, _the_ chalk hill turned out to be two hills. Therefore it seems well within the spirit of the original deed to invert the intended landmark, thus _the_ non-existent single hill would become _the_ existent single vale -- divided down the middle between Sangatte and Corvint." She smiles slightly. "Might I suggest that you consider those amongst your heirs and, if a boy and a girl from both your Houses find each other suitable, notice that this Vale would make an ideal wedding gift and a noble surety of peace and prosperity between your lands. I imagine that, given time, it might make an excellent market town, bringing profit to you both." This time both nobles try to stare her down. Paris holds her gaze, and the two finally turn to each other. "If my boy marries your girl," Corvint begins, "the Vale is part of Corvint." Sangatte stares back. "If your troops don't withdraw to the halfway line by morning my troops will rip them apart." Corvint huffs, "If they even try..." and the two still bickering lords fade from view. Paris badge blazes more brightly, and she advances to the stairway now visible on the other side of the landing. Paris looks more confident; clearly this sort of thing is easier than trying to divide a baby in half. Paris makes a note to herself to discuss an untouched aspect of this case with Prince William. Assuming she is ever allowed to talk with the prince again. Thirteenth landing. Only one man stands there; he is in his late 30's, powerfully built, and armored in chain, but no helm. He has no shield, just a bastard sword. If he ever had a surcoat it is long gone. The only emblem he wears, just over his heart, is one like Paris's: sword crossed over scales. With a faraway look he stares over or through her. Finally he speaks. "What justice do you have for me?" Paris stares at the man a moment, and says, haltingly. "I have seen you before ... in a vision." The vision came to her once before as she longed to know the penalty for disobeying a direct order. She had seen a set of scales of those who disobeyed and shouldn't have; scales for those fewer who disobeyed and should have; and a third set of scales. There she had seen, first, a man, but the images that she saw with him made no sense, and he was quickly replaced on the scales by the Fell. This man before her, she knows with certainty, is the man that had stood alone on those third scales. Paris recalls the vision with vivid despair. It had seemed so complicated! And she has so _dreamed_ that her Order would always be a source of kindred spirits. But if some have failed in the past, so might others in the future. So might Paris. How often has she felt that she has _already_ failed? This man, trained, mature, experienced in the Order, could so much more easily be the inexperienced Paris. And -- if she can not better understand -- it will be. God have mercy. Paris breathes in, shakily. Slowly she forces the words out. "You -- are accused of -- obeying orders, are you not? What -- what were the circumstances?" The man nods slowly, crossing his arms. "Yes. Yes, I obeyed orders. The circumstances." He pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts, then speaks again in a dull, tired tone, almost drained of emotion. "I used my Key to enter the room at the base of the Tower. I approached the Mirror, and looking in it saw what I was doing and what would happen. But I had my orders, lawfully given by one in full possession of their rights and faculties." He pauses. "And so I did it. I had only one Key, so I smashed the Mirror to reach the cards. The shards of the Mirror fell to the ground, and spread to the world. I reached in and took a card, starting with the World, and tore it to pieces. As I tore it, I could see the world changed and wracked by earthquakes, and the waters rising above the peninsula until only the tops of mountains were left as islands. Millions died, then and there, just as I had seen would happen. Just as the Mirror showed me. And then the lights went out and I died." There is another long pause, as Paris's face reflects her horror. One of the Guardians of the Key of Man, one of _her_ Order, one of those whose like was her _ideal_ -- he did this thing!?! He had set in motion the horror and the nightmare -- knowingly!?! The man does not seem to notice her reaction, and continues on in the same level tone. "But in that room even the Red God cannot go." (Mia hastily begins to take notes.) "So, even though I died, my spirit stayed there. Long and long, I watched. With the Mirror shattered, with the World destroyed and Torat removed from Tarot, the Font grew unchecked as the Wheel continued to spin, uncontrolled. The shards of the mirror grew, until they became great weak gashes between the two. And finally the shards opened up, allowing the Fell and the Dark out onto an unprepared world. And then the Font exploded. All this I saw in the Mirror, the armies of evil spreading across the land. But I had my orders." He looks at Paris again. "What justice do you have for me?" "Why?" Paris gasps hoarsely. "Did you not have Choice? Were you not sane and healthy of mind and body? By your badge, were you not still a Guardian of the Key of Man in good standing? Noble? Honorable? You had foreknowledge, you have said, from the Mirror, as to what your ordered actions would do to the world and its people. Did you think that what happened to _them_ was Just? Did you believe that your orders were in the interest of Justice?" Imperturbably, arms still crossed across his chest, he nods. "Yes. I was sane and healthy, and a member of the Astraen Guard in good standing. My patent of nobility had not been revoked. And if you want to question my honor we will cross swords now rather than later." One hand falls to the hilt of his sword as he speaks the last. "But I had my orders. And I had sworn to obey. And I obeyed." A pause of one heartbeat. "What Justice do you have for me?" Tears start to Paris's eyes. It doesn't take Calais to read her expression this time. She's obviously wondering what she herself would do if faced with such an order. Never mind that she can't believe Prince William would ever give such an order. What if he _did_? Aloud, she chokes out, "Again I ask you 'why?'! Did your sworn oath not include 'to speak and be silent'? Are you not obligated to advise as well as obey? Why did you not return and counsel against your orders once you had foreseen the result? What was your lord to you that you could not give informed counsel?" Sternly the man watches her. "There was not time to return and discuss it; that was made abundantly clear to me. The orders were very precise." He looks into the distance above her. "I have commanded armies in the field. Had a thousand knights, and six thousand men-at-arms die because of my orders. Had they stopped to" and he hurls the word at her, "_counsel_ each order, the field would have been lost. I assure you, when I saw what the Mirror showed me, I considered very carefully the orders I had been given. I know the Law as well as any who wear this badge, and could find no way around the order." His voice grows a little distant. "And as I watched the earth and waters rise, the air grow bad in the great cities and drive the inhabitants away, and the fires claim lives great and small, I thought more and more, and could find no mistake. The order was given, clear and unarguable. I pledged to carry it out. And I did." He looks back down to her. "What Justice do you have for me?" Paris matches his sternness. "You ask for Justice but speak of your deed via Law. You will have Justice ... when I understand the circumstances as you do. You were ordered to enter the room and expeditiously destroy one of the cards. Or more than one. What did you believe, know, or had been told -- would happen if you did _not_ do so?" He crosses his arms again. "I do not know why the order was given. There was no speaking of what would happen if I were not to undertake the mission. I understood that it would deal a mighty blow to the Fell, and some of our own would fall. I understand that; I commanded a force that helped drive them into their last holes, and losses are a part of all war. I did not suspect, when I swore to follow this order, that millions, soldiers and commoners alike, would perish. It was not until I saw the Mirror that I knew the rest." He pauses. "But by then I had promised. And I had to follow my orders." Another pause. "If you can conceive of a reason that would justify, then exonerate me. If you cannot, then pronounce my doom. Or fine me, knowing I have no coin in my pocket and no goods to my name." He stares at her. "What Justice do you have for me?" "It would seem," Paris answers sadly, "that Justice was banished from this world when you broke the Mirror and destroyed the card. However, my judgment is that Justice was gone from your life and your heart when you saw the doom in the mirror, reconsidered your orders, and could find nothing but the Law to wrap your decision in. If you had refused your orders after seeing the mirror -- if you had forsworn your oath after knowing the consequences -- and gone back to your superiors and explained what you had done, yes, you would then have been guilty of disobeying orders. You would then have been put on trial for said disobedience; you are right, an army cannot afford to have every soldier question or disobey orders. In that trial, it might have been determined that your superior was wrong to have given such orders and you would have been exonerated. If, however, the letter of the Law was brought against you, then you would have died for disobedience. But you would know in your soul that you were one life sacrificed that thousands and millions might live. And even your executioners would have honored you. If you had considered what was right and just for those thousands and millions in addition to your consideration of what was lawful for you, you should not have made the decision you made. You knew if you disobeyed, you might die; in obeying, you died along with countless others you might have saved." "For myself," Paris allows her tears to fall freely, "I forgive you the pain you have personally caused me. I know what it is to want to put Duty above all other things. But I can speak for no other, personally. Nonetheless, in the cause of Justice, I say that you were without Justice and without Mercy when you served Law alone, and that you _are_ responsible for the consequences of your actions. God help us all." "As you could not serve Justice, you are no longer a servant of Justice as a member of the Order of the Astraen Guard. If some part of you knew that you had done wrong, then you have served in a hell of your own making ever since the breaking of the mirror, and I shall honor that part of you, too small though it was. For the loss of valiant knights and soldiers that your actions caused, you are removed from the rolls of the military. For the unwarranted loss of civilian life that your have caused, the penalty is..." She pauses, struggling with the words. "Were it possible for you to live again, I do not think that you would cause unwitting or dishonorable death again. You are not an unrepentant and irredeemable murderer. You have already seen Hell. As you are already dead, I remand your soul to God for his judgment." Paris speaks with finality but, as with every other case on the stairway, the loser is not immediately willing to accept it. As fast as we have ever seen a man move he draws his sword and holds it en garde. It glows bright white, reflecting his badge; there is a soft white curtain of light about three feet around him in all directions, and his sword sings like a choir of children in church. "Do you intend to enforce your justice?" he says, voice full of challenge. "As you do not accept it, yes!" Paris replies firmly, the planes of her face tightening and dignity lifting her chin and shoulders. "I am Paris of Jouet. Will you do me the courtesy of telling me your name before we meet?" She draws her sword and moves into the en garde position. For a moment she wonders how she, an infant still compared to the senior warriors she has sparred with, can face -- much less defeat -- an experienced Guardian with a magic sword, but she sweeps the thought away. She'll do her best and in God's hands be it. He looks at her across the two swords. "I am Sir Juda of Iscaria," he replies, "Once the Knight of Swords." [Player comment: Paris is the current Knight of Swords.] He steps forward and swings, hitting but not critting. Paris blocks with her shield. The glowing white weapon passes through it, shattering the shield into pieces, leaving her with only straps. The next phase, she swings in return, and several things happen. As she begins to swing, the sound of the choir stops. The light retreats from his sword, and the shell about him collapses. The emblem on his chest shatters in two; so violently, she notices, that the armor itself was destroyed. He looks down at the hole in surprise, stunned. Paris aims for the hole and hits, and her sword sinks into his chest. He drops his sword, which clangs onto the floor, and grabs Paris's blade with both hands, preventing it from being removed, falling to his knees as he gasps. "Thus Justice is returned to the World. I thank you, Paris of Jouet. Honor to your house and family..." The vision fades away. Unlike all of the other floors in this tower, there is a brown stain like dried blood on the stone where he was. It does not seem to be on the surface, but rather part of the stone itself, to remain until enough years have passed that the stone itself is worn away. As this vision fades, Paris slumps against the wall, burying her face in her hands, and sobs. The child has had to watch her ideals ground through a meat-chopper. It will take a few moments for the adult to come out the other side. As she pulls herself together, she observes there is again a stairway leading up from the other side of the landing, and murmurs, "Oh God, what could be _worse_?" She looks around and checks that she is still holding her sword; if there is another test, she might need it. Her sword is indeed there. Sir Juda's disappeared with his image. The pieces of her shattered shield are still there as well. She does not reclaim them. Paris moves slowly, forcing herself to continue. As she finally climbs the fourteenth flight of stairs, the landing at the top is empty, and there is a door on the left side of the landing (i.e. opening onto the interior of the tower). The door is white, with the sword and scales symbol in gold embedded in it. She opens the door and finds a room. There are still some traces of fog; as it clears she sees Anton, Rhori, Calais, Claire, and Hobbes waiting. In the center is a teleport circle. And at the 12 o'clock position is a man on a throne. He is more handsome than any man any of us, save Mia, has ever seen, but his face is stern. In his right hand he holds an upraised sword; in his left, a set of scales, which are level. Behind him, a curtain blocks most of the light from an open window. (Those with knowledge of Tarot note that he looks just like his card.) Paris goes down on one knee before him. "Lord Justice, welcome back into the world. Most welcome." The man answers, "Stand and approach, supplicant." (Oh, _that's_ a supplicant, says Rhori.) Justice adds, "You asked what could be worse?" He holds forth the scales, which, though balanced, hold a key. "If you take this key, you can be called upon to render justice as you have today, any day for the rest of your life. And if you take it and do what you must to finish activating it, you will have to power to do what Sir Juda did." She thinks a long time and takes the key. It disappears into her. The man speaks again. "Though you have been to the place of each of the parts of the Key of Man, the Key will not work for you until you have been in the presence of the Emperor." Justice asks those of us who helped during the tests, what boon we ask in return for our aid. Anton asks for a spell that will help him to see the truth. He's thinking in terms of detecting illusions, but Justice says he can teach him to discern when someone is speaking the truth. Claire, having apparently failed to learn her lesson from the Prince, says her aid was freely given, but Justice says if she thinks of something later she has but to ask. Calais decides that it would be imprudent to ask Justice to improve his lockpicking or security systems skills, and lights on the idea of asking for aid in determining what has happened in a place (i.e., criminology) so as to help bring about Justice. Justice decides this is reasonable. Justice turns to Rhori. "And you, Guardian of Nature?" Rhori asks, "Justice is back in the World?" "Yes." Mia interjects, "Both worlds?" "Justice can never be removed from Tarot, except by the choices of the Minor Arcana." Rhori says, "I don't think I can ask for anything that isn't going to happen. I want justice for Jouet." Anton prompts him to ask for a name, but Justice tells us, "That individual has not yet been submitted to Justice, but you will have aid in finding him." Justice turns to Paris, "We are in your debt still. He who is the head of your Order, knows how to find me." "Is that sufficient for him to make more of the Order?" "When he is ready to make more, he will speak with me, and we will arrange a test." Mia is bursting. "Yes, Lady of Water?" She asks the spheres of the gods. Justice is familiar with the red god, but Mia wonders if it is Death or Last Judgment. "He is the god of dying. You of the Minor Arcana know the cards better than I." Anton asks if there's any particular injustice we should be trying to correct. "The greatest one is the presence of the Charioteer in your world. The Emperor would be the best way to defeat him." Paris asks if there are other kings besides ours who might become Emperor. He knows of none. Calais asks if this would necessarily mean the king in Torat would have to give up his place here. Justice says that his father, the Emperor, would either rule both Tarot and Torat if the Charioteer had already conquered Torat; otherwise he would likely order the Charioteer to withdraw his forces from Torat. Anton asks about the demon who appeared in one of the tests. Justice remarks to Paris that that is the only figure who was allowed to lie during the tests, something Paris cannot count on in rendering real life judgments. He is Umim, one of the pauldrons (shoulderplates) of the Charioteer. They are his... lieutenants? Somebody remarks that Umim is a coward, but Justice says of the Charioteer himself that "the body that he now inhabits was the greatest warrior of his time." [Reserve a tick here in case Brillig has questions about the effects of breaking the mirror etc.] We enter the circle and reappear at the ground floor. The entire court is packed around the circle: Prince, Duke, Baron, elves, all are there, dead silent. The Duke is obviously furious and the almost immediate appearance of a book-laden clerk soon makes it clear why. The tendons standing out on his neck, the Duke addresses the clerk in a tense and steadily rising voice. "I want to know if there has been a case where a farmer was hung for a bar fight, and an 'assessment' of nine silver pieces was paid to the judge for a speedy trial. I will _not_ have lives BOUGHT and God-DAMNED SORRY PADRE *SOLD* while I am Duke!" The clerk cringes and starts pawing through the books. The Princess adds, "I want to know if the case involving the murder of the Carver's wife and child was real." The flustered clerk looks up from researching the Duke's request to stutter to the Princess and Assembly, "As f-for that, I entered the C-Carver's case today. The murderer is scheduled to hang tomorrow morning." The Princess turns and says, "I want to watch. I won't sleep well until I know he is dead." It is clear she doesn't consider the matter open to debate, and is merely looking for an escort, but it isn't clear if she was speaking to the Duke or to Silverlocke. "Paris." The Prince is quiet. "I will speak to Sir Gryphon. It would be superfluous for you to study Law further." He pauses a moment, and there may be a glistening in his eyes. "I will never lose my mother as you have. But if, God forbid, I did confront the man responsible for her death, I hope I have the presence of mind to find out as much from him as you did from Juda." He swallows. "You have done very well indeed." He turns from her and starts to walk away, stopping near the door. His voice seems to be controlled, maybe even have a smile in it, but he doesn't turn around and let anyone else see his face. "You should have asked the two barons how big their armies were. They would be back next year, arguing over the dividing line. If Sangatte's field army was not three times larger than Corvint's force already in the Vale, I would have awarded the Vale to Corvint." And, as voices begin to rise in a babble in the room, he slips out, accompanied only by his guards. Paris stares after him with a worried look on her face. The Duke opens his box, and is surprised. "That's never happened before." Some of the cards have symbols on them. Calais takes the one with a gear on it, and finds it bestows not only criminology skill, but forensic medicine. (Maybe Brillig will want to learn that; he'll think it's "cool". :-) Anton takes the one with a pentagram, and learns an air-based telepathy spell for telling whether someone thinks they're lying. In addition there are five cards each (40). Claire expresses her desire to retire for a time and study with Pierre. She asks for her share of cards. Calais asks how to deal with the cards we got from Murphy, and we turn to Paris to render judgment. Paris says that those cards, like others obtained through the joint effort of a party, should be shared among the party. Claire, however, says she is willing to settle for just the one her bag yielded from that batch. Calais tells her if she ever feels she needs a few more, to let us know. With the immediate task dealt with, we start to get caught up on news. Silverlocke says that Pelier is beseiged. He and the Duke debrief us. We leave out only a few bits, like the black book found in Dungeon. Calais asks what the knowledgable folk _thought_ was in the location we called Paris? Wilderness. Silverlocke asks what we think we need to do next. We explain we need to stop the Charioteer, and the way to do that seems to be to find something to be an Orb and something to be a Sceptre, and present them to a crowned king, of which we know of only one. Silverlocke says he'll leave it to the Prince to deal with breaking the news to his father. We should probably spend some time researching potential orbs and sceptres, by reading up on lore. Studying stronger magic would also be good. Having heard that the Hanged Man is the next card we can expect to appear, Rhori suggests keeping the Princess from being at the hanging. The Baron doubts she can be thwarted in her will, but says he'll be there too. We all decide to be there as well. Silverlocke mentions that the elves of clan Kelli are willing to leave their forest to fight orcs, and these two have come here from there. The other elves he and Rhori have met, a different clan, have not been willing. Silverlocke also comments that now he knows what is most important in finding candidates for the Etteillan Guard -- their heart. They have to care about creatures great and small. That's why there wasn't a member of the Order of Nature with Sir Juda. [Note: Some of us apparently mingled this comment with the previous one and heard it as "elves don't have the heart to make good Guardians of Nature". That's not it at all. There's been no reference, at least recently, to why elves aren't in the Orders.] The Duke talks to one of his heralds, confirming her willingness to work with us in our researches, and to that end excusing her from her other duties. He introduces her to us as Lady Alexis de la Ponte. She's pretty, and impressive. Long, completely white hair, and black pupil-less eyes. She's about 19. "I know quite a bit about the legendary monsters and such things, as well as where things might be." We zip time forward to the hanging. Paris gets permission to skip class so she can be there. We recognise the man from Paris's test. Anton checks but finds nothing magical about him. As the noose is put around his neck, the brute leans forward and says something to the hangman, who shrugs. They let the man drop; the necksnap not having been perfected yet, the man slowly strangles to death. When it's over, the Baron calls over the hangman and speaks with him, and looks perplexed. The rest of the royal party also looks perplexed. We ask what the man said. "Two queens shall fall and two kings shall pass ere the chariot comes to rest." Lady Alexis notes the saying, "No one sees the future so clearly as a man who knows he shall be hanged in the morning." We ponder the Hanged Man's meaning in the Tarot. He's balanced between Justice and Death; he somehow has an understanding of the world, sees things clearly. But we have no sense of Tarot/Torat here. This was but a harbinger of some sort; we have not yet met the Tarot figure. We muse over the fact that Paris has been to where all the parts of the Key of Man are. Anton notes that though only four parts are in the world, we now know there are five parts to a key. He realises the Emperor himself is the fifth part of the key of Man. He thinks a bit and realises that the 22 Tarot include nine gods, five parts of the key of man, five parts of the key of nature, and therefore presumably three others. One of the others is probably the Fool. Calais suggests that another is the World. We wonder which is the remaining Tarot?